Beneath the church dome, the last bit of light vanished, swallowing me whole.
Midnight struck. Still no Andrew.
I knew how this ended—just like the last eighty-seven times. Wrecked and forgotten.
My phone lit up. Cindy had posted again.
Nine perfectly curated pics, oozing fake vulnerability.
Mom and Dad feeding her peeled grapes like royalty.
Andrew beside her, tucking her hair back with that soft smile.
And then the kicker—a “family portrait.” All of them huddled around fragile little Cindy, grinning like they’d won something.
Caption: [The pain is unbearable, but being wrapped in love really can defeat all darkness. Thank you, Mom and Dad. Thank you, my Mr. Todd. Your love pulls me out of the abyss every time.]
The comments were all the same, like they’d rehearsed it.
Dad: [Sweet girl, get well soon. I’ll always protect you.]
Mom: [Don’t be afraid, Cindy. With me here, you’ll always be our precious little one.]
Andrew: [Focus on getting better. Everything will be okay.]
Then came a text from Mom—cold, bossy.
[Go leave a comment for Cindy. She’s refusing to take her meds because she thinks you’re mad at her.]
Yeah, that was Cindy talking. Her little power play, rubbing it in.
And still—something in me cracked.
Funny, isn’t it?
I’m the real daughter. The actual fiancée.
But every time it’s me vs. Cindy, they don’t even flinch—they pick her. Every. Single. Time.
The first wedding got scrapped because it was Cindy’s birthday.
She threw a fit at the venue, sobbing about how she didn’t want to spend her birthday heartbroken. Andrew folded instantly.
My parents yanked down our photos and snapped at me.
